A Toast To The Luna

The humiliation clung to me like a second skin.

I stepped out of the auction hall as fast as dignity allowed, the cool evening breeze hitting my face like a slap. My fingers trembled, clutching the clutch bag that felt suddenly useless. My wolf paced restlessly under my skin, snarling, wanting to rip something—someone—apart.

I needed to get away. Far away.

I marched to the parking lot, my chest heaving, and eyes burning. I reached Dante’s car—a sleek black SUV—but my heart sank.

He had the keys.

I cursed under my breath.

I looked around desperately, spotting the guards posted nearby. I could demand another car, maybe, but even that wouldn’t be simple.

As Luna—even if only in name—I wasn’t allowed to leave with just any vehicle or driver due to “security protocols.” If I vanished or got hurt, it would be a political scandal for the entire pack. I was chained by my title.

Chained by a bond that meant nothing to him.

So I sat. On the low edge of the sidewalk. And waited.

One hour passed. Then two.

I stopped looking at the time.

By the third hour, headlights blinded me. Dante’s SUV pulled up smoothly, windows slightly lowered, soft music filtering out—a love song, of all things.

I straightened, stomach coiling in fury and disbelief.

Jane was laughing when the car door opened, her perfectly lined lips curved into a victorious smirk. She didn’t even try to hide it anymore.

“Ugh, Lynda, we didn’t realize you were waiting.” She tossed her hair. “You looked so busy storming off, I assumed you had your own ride.”

I said nothing.

“Dante,” she purred, sliding into the front passenger seat. “Let’s celebrate. There’s a luxury bar down the street. I heard their cocktails are to die for.”

My head turned sharply. “We should go home.”

Dante didn’t even glance at me.

“Sounds good,” he said, already starting the car.

And just like that, I was pulled into a night I didn’t want.

---

The bar shimmered with golden lights, laughter, and high-class perfume. It should have felt magical, but to me it was suffocating.

I took a seat at the far end, away from the dancing bodies and clinking glasses.

I didn’t want to drink.

But I did.

Anger burned hotter than the whiskey I swallowed. One glass turned into three. My vision blurred, but not enough to miss the sight of Dante and Jane on the dance floor—his hands gripping her waist, her arms draped around his neck like she’d always belonged there.

My wolf growled in warning.

Men approached, drawn to my beauty like moths to flame. One tried to slide in beside me, another touched my arm.

“Hey, sweetheart,” one slurred, “you look lonely…”

I turned to him, my eyes glowing faintly. My fangs peeked from under my lips.

“I will tear your hand off,” I whispered.

They staggered back instantly. Humans or low-blooded wolves—they knew power when they saw it.

But still, my rage simmered.

I was still his mate.

And I was treated like an afterthought.

I stood, ready to leave, to scream, to shift and run far away—when the walls shook with a deafening crash.

The doors burst open.

Rogues.

Half-shifted, bloodthirsty, and reeking of death.

People screamed as tables flipped, claws slashed the air, and panic broke like a wave.

I ducked as one rogue lunged at a bartender. Another spotted me and charged, his eyes wild with bloodlust.

I shifted only halfway, letting my claws extend and eyes blaze gold.

He struck.

I dodged, twisted, and drove my claws into his shoulder. Blood splattered. Another one came from behind, raking his claws across my back.

I cried out but spun, slashing his throat before he could strike again.

Glass shattered, fire alarms blared, and smoke thickened the air.

I turned to find Dante—and what I saw made my blood run cold.

He was shielding Jane.

Not me.

She was behind him, crouched, her arms wrapped around his waist while I bled and staggered alone.

A rogue came at me—a big one. I was dizzy now, blood soaking the back of my dress. My legs wobbled as I stood my ground.

I met the rogue head-on. My claws sank into his ribs, but he bit into my shoulder—deep.

Pain exploded down my side.

I fell.

The world tilted.

Through the blur, I saw Dante leap at the last rogue, tearing him apart, fur and blood flying in the air. His wolf growled deeply.

Then silence.

The few rogues who survived limped and fled, vanishing into the night.

Dante stood panting, his shirt torn, and chest heaving.

His eyes scanned the wreckage.

Then they landed on me.

Bleeding. Half-conscious. Alone.

He moved slowly, reluctantly.

By the time he reached me, my eyes were fluttering shut.

I heard Jane’s voice.

“Poor Lynda… always causing trouble, even unconscious.”

And then, the darkness took me.